Rose and John
by scifiunicorn
Summary: Rose Tyler is a precocious, intelligent student at a small school. John Smith is the eccentric new English teacher. A bond immediately forms between them, and as the school year progresses, so does their illicit relationship. Doctor/Rose, Teacher/Student, extremely AU.


**Author's Note: **This fic is very AU. I really think this is more of a David/Billie AU fic than a Doctor/Rose one. The Rose in this fic is very different than the Rose we see in Doctor Who. She is, for the most part, much more quiet and submissive, while at other times she is more rebellious. The Doctor is also a bit different, but not as much as Rose is. Also, I am not British, I am American, so if I get any details wrong or I drop an Americanism in there somewhere, please correct me, and I will be happy to change it.

**Warnings: **This is a very angsty, very dark fic. It deals with issues such as domestic abuse, alcoholism, self-mutilation, teen pregnancy, bullying, rape, adultery, and forbidden love. Also, remember, this contains student/teacher romance. While Rose is of the age of consent in this fic (she's seventeen throughout the majority of the story), it is still illegal in Britain for a legal adult to have sex with someone between the ages of sixteen and eighteen. Sex does happen between the Doctor and Rose, so if that squicks you out, I recommend not reading this fic.

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A warm, salt-tinged zephyr blew in from the direction of the sea, kissing against Rose's suntanned face. Her blonde hair blew back behind her shoulders, a few strands hitting her face. She pushed them away and licked her full lips, glancing back to the dilapidated white roof peeking out from behind the reed-covered sand dunes. The reeds undulated in the wind, rubbing against each other and creating an unearthly whisper that was picked up by the air and carried through the beach. She pushed her feet deeper into the hot sand, letting it coat her skin soothingly. Wrapping her arms around her legs, she pressed her face against her knees and closed her eyes.

It wasn't often she got days like this, when it was just her at the beach, nobody else, no parents bringing their noisy children, no couples cuddling on towels or playing in the water, no teenagers splashing each other. Just the whispers of the reeds in the wind and the continual pound of the water slamming into the shore. It was a nice break from the usual noise she had become so accomodated to, the sound of her mother talking on the phone while her brothers argued loudly over who got the remote, the dog barking at a squirrel outside, her dad yelling at one of her sisters. She relished in these rare occasions in which she didn't have to deal with the noise. Sometimes she would read during these times, while others she would just sit and bask in the blissful silence.

Suddenly, she pressed her tongue to the roof of her mouth, and realized how dry it felt, like someone had stuck a slightly damp towel in her mouth. She swallowed, and stood up, wobbling a little in the sand. She started walking towards the old bridge that cut through the reeds, her feet sinking into the warm sand with each step. When she finally reached the bridge, the wood creaked beneath the weight of her feet, well worn by years of rotting and being pummelled by storms. As she walked, a building rose up from below the sand dunes. It had a white roof, and like the wood of the bridge, it too was weathered, paint chipping and peeling off. The walls were coral pink, with a window and a menu nailed up next to it. A concrete path stood between the bridge and the building, stretching on in both directions until it disappeared into the horizon. Behind the building was a parking lot, where currently only one car was parked, a dark blue Sedan. She wasn't sure whose it was, and frankly she didn't care.

She walked up to the window, where a plump girl with pink-streaked black hair and a nose ring was waiting.

"What would you like?" the girl asked, nodding towards the menu.

Scanning over the assorted list of drinks and snacks, her focus came to rest upon the words _pink lemonade_. "Um, a pink lemonade, please."

The girl nodded and turned around, opening up a refrigerator.

Rose noticed a man walking toward the building. She guessed that he was somewhere in his early to mid thirties. He was tall and skinny, his legs looking pipe cleaners sticking out of his khaki shorts. He had brown hair that stuck up wildly in multiple directions, almost a bit like a cockatoo's headfeathers, yet at the same time it looked as if he had spent hours standing in front of a mirror trying to get it just right. She couldn't tell what color his eyes were, they were covered by dark sunglasses perched upon a slender aquiline nose. In his hand, he carried a thin book, but she couldn't tell what it was. She wasn't sure exactly what it was about him that intrigued her, he just did. It wasn't because he was good-looking (though he was, in a different sort of way), there was just something magnetic about him, like some inexplicable force was pulling her towards him.

He walked up behind her, and she realized that he was waiting to order something.

"Here you go," the girl said, handing her a bottle of pink lemonade.

Rose shoved her hand into the pocket of her shorts and pulled out some money, only to realize that she was short a few. "I-I don't have enough."

"Then you can't have the lemonade," the girl said with shrug.

"Here," the man said suddenly, pulling out some money from his pocket and handing it to the girl.

Rose looked back, shaking her head. "No, you don't have to do that."

"It's alright," he said, smiling.

"But I don't have anything to pay you back with," she said, turning her palm up to prove her point.

The man shook his head. "Don't worry about it, it wasn't that much."

"You really don't have to do that," said Rose, smiling in disbelief. "Honestly, I'll survive without a lemonade."

"But I want to do it," he said.

"Alright then," the girl said, handing her the cold, moist bottle. "Here you are."

"Thanks," she said to the man, smiling and stepping out of his way.

She twisted the cap on the bottle and pressed it to her mouth, gulp down the cool, sweet liquid. A few droplets escaped and ran down her chin, and she wiped them away with the back of her hand. She started back towards the beach, the hot pavement of the path scorching her feet. Moving quickly, soon she was back sitting down in the sand, watching the waves roll in then pull back again and again. The sound of it was almost hypnotic, and she felt her thoughts and worries drain away, lulled by the rhythmic sound of the waves.

"Mind if I sit by you?" came a familiar voice.

Rose looked up, shielding her eyes from the sun, and saw the man from before standing over her. His glasses were on his head now, and she could see that his eyes were a dark shade of brown. Part of her said to tell him no. He was, after all, a strange, older man who she'd never met before, she, a sixteen-year-old girl. But she liked older men, her own boyfriend was nineteen, and this man was attractive.

"Fine by me," she said with a shrug, returning her gaze to the water.

He took a seat next to her, then extended his hand towards her. "I'm John, by the way."

"Rose," she replied, shaking his hand.

His long fingers completely enveloped her small hand, and they were slightly cooler than she was used to.

Her mother had warned her repeatedly not to talk to strange men, but she was never really one to obey her mother's rules, especially since her mother had a habit of not following them herself.

She glanced to John, and noticed that he was reading _The Handmaid's Tale._

"You're reading _The Handmaid's Tale_?" asked Rose, folding her legs.

"Mm-hm, my second time, in fact," he said, holding it up for her to see. "I just really love the questions it poses, it's so thought-provoking."

Rose turned towards him, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "I liked the style. It's complicated if you aren't really paying attention, but if you really focus on it, you see it's true beauty."

"Hmm, I never thought of it that way, but I suppose you're right," he cocked his head. "I surmise that you're a pretty big reader?"

"I love it, I've been reading all my life," she said, and laughed gently. "When I was little, I used to, um, I used to sneak a flashlight and a book under my pillow, and I'd stay up and read under the covers."

John smiled. "Oh, I used to that. I loved it. Have you ever read _Jane Eyre_?"

"Yeah, it's one of my absolute favorites," she said, wrapping her arms around her legs. "It was so good, I read it three times."

"Three?" he raised an eyebrow, smiling. "You are a big reader. Do you come here often?"

Rose tilted her head and shrugged. "Every once in a while, when there's no one around. I like to escape the noise at my house."

"Ah, I see," he said, laying the book down beside him. "So I'm spoiling your alone time."

"Nah, it's nice to talk to someone who has the same taste in literature as me," she said with a laugh. "None of my friends like to read the same things I do. So what about you, have you been here before?"

John shook his head. "No, not really, I tend to fry when I'm out in the sun too long. Today was just so nice I couldn't help myself," he ran his hand through his hair. "Do you ever go swimming?"

"Sometimes, when the water's warm enough," she scooped up a handful of sand then let it slip through her fingers and blow away in the breeze. "It's nice. Sometimes I even go skinny-dipping."

Glancing at him, she wondered if she was making this strange man she'd just met feel uncomfortable. But he didn't appear uncomfortable, just surprised. Sometimes she did that, spilled everything too soon. Well, the easy stuff anyway. The fun stuff. Stuff like dancing until she passed out drunk on a pool table, or writing obscenities on the bathroom stalls, or doing a striptease for her boyfriend and his friends on top of a bar. She never talked about the stuff like the bruises her father gave her, the self-inflicted scars that criss-crossed across her arms, or the baby she lost when she was fourteen. She didn't talk about those things, not to anyone. They were her secrets and hers alone.

"You go skinny-dipping?"

"Yeah," she said with a nod. "It's nice. There's a sense of freedom about it, like I'm detached from the rest of the world."

"Hm, well I never thought of it that way before."

Suddenly, her phone started vibrating violently in her pocket. She shoved her hand into her pocket and pulled it out, pressing the warm metal to her ear. "Hello?"

_"Rose, babe, I'm waiting for you," _came her boyfriend, Jimmy's, voice, saturated and garbled by the din of static. _"Turn around."_

She turned around, and saw him standing at the top of the bridge, waving his pale, skinny arm in the air. She waved back, smiling.

"Who's that?" asked John, raising an eyebrow.

"My boyfriend," she replied, standing up and running towards Jimmy, then turning around to face John. "It was nice meeting you."

He nodded. "You too."

Feet kicking up the sand, she ran to Jimmy, wrapping her arms around him tightly. In response, he picked her up off the ground and swirled her around. She squeeled, bursting into laughter.

"What are you doing here?" she asked as he put her down, her arms still looped around his neck.

"Emily's parents are away and she's throwing a party," said Jimmy. "Thought you'd like to come."

Rose removed her arms from his neck and took his hands, starting towards his car, feet sliding in the sand. "Yeah, of course."

"Who's that guy you were talking to?" asked Jimmy, glancing back at John.

A frisson of fear shot through her spine at his words. "No one, just a guy I met."

"Were you flirting with him?" Jimmy lowered his voice, still looking back at John.

"Of course not," she said, squeezing his hand. "I would never do that."

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